Through The Night
by LibertyBelleAnne
Summary: After boarding the train leaving Campbelltown in Jerkwater Johnny Yuma starts to feel the effects of his ordeal. Good thing his uncle is there to look after him. For Whumptober 2019 #17 "Stay with me"


**Disclaimer: I don't own any ex Confederates or ex scalp hunters. The Bible verse is taken from Isaiah 43:18 which I didn't write.**

**A/N: For Whumptober 2019 #17 "Stay with me" **

**Through The N****ight**

Everything was covered in blood. All he could see was red. He heard the guns, cannons and the cries of the dying. He smelled the decay and death. He could even taste the gunpowder and mud on his tongue. But all he saw was blood. He was covered in it. He'd never get it off. He'd never be clean again.

Then the began to faces appear. Ghost of the dead then descended upon him. Their decaying hands grabbed at him; holding him down so he couldn't escape. They were men that had died at his hand. Men he'd killed. Campbell, his son and a faceless figure that he knew to be the Campbell brother were then on him. One of them stabbed a knife into his upper leg. He cried out in pain. They were chocking the air out of him he couldn't breath. He was burning up in this hell. He couldn't outrun his past. He couldn't escape.

"Johnny!" He sat up with jolt. He gasped raggedly as he wiped sweat out of his eyes.

"Uncle John," the ex Confederate solider croaked out in relief.

"You rest easy boy. It's over now." He clasped his adopted nephew on the shoulder.

"It's never over. Not for me, Uncle John. Every time I close my eyes all I see is war," His eyes were fever bright and full of grief. He tried to sit up but his uncle pushed him back down to rest on the train compartment seat.

John gave the boy a look, "You lie on back now. You've done enough damage for one day."

"Yes Sir," Johnny sighed as he complied.

The older man's rough calloused hand settled onto his head. Johnny closed his eyes basking in the cool flesh. Taking comfort from the safe and familiar touch. He'd been cold even before he entered Campbelltown. Since they entered the train he'd started to feel overheated. He was pretty sure it wasn't because of the train car's heating.

"You've got yourself a fever," The ex scalp hunter confirmed gruffly, "You need more sleep."

Since John Sims had gotten the telegram from his godson he'd been worried. Johnny was never one to blow things out of proportion. If anything he down played everything, especially his own hurts. He was in more pain than he let on or admitted to. He also seemed to be suffering from blood loss. The stitches the doctor had put in had long since broken open. Probably from all the hippity hopping around he'd accused him of. He tried to hide his discomfort but the older man had known him since he was knee high to a grasshopper. He could see the pain in his eyes. Both the physical and spiritual. Campbell's accusation and battle to the death had pulled the scab off the healing wound in the boy's soul.

John pulled his glasses off to rub at his eyes before he replaced them. He turned to find the boy staring at him.

"Didn't I tell you to get some sleep?"

"Yes Sir," The boy nodded.

"Well then, close them eyes and go to sleep."

"I can't Uncle John," He looked down, sounding like he had nothing left inside.

"Worried about dreams?" He asked more gently. Johnny didn't look up but nodded again.

"Isaiah said to "forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.""

"I'm trying Uncle John," Johnny confessed quietly.

"I'm not your uncle."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Johnny's face at the familiar banter, "You're mean enough to be."

"And you remember that if you ever pull a stunt like this again. Getting shot in a Jerkwater town. Sending me a cryptic call to aid expecting me to bail you out. An awful place to die. Terrible people."

"Sorry Uncle John, I shouldn't have dragged you into my mess."

"You shut your mouth boy. Do you want your Pa to come haunt me? All I wanted to do was go fishing."

"No Sir," Johnny was learning to understand his uncle a little better. His gruff words and mannerisms hid how much he cared. Johnny really just wanted to go fishing with his uncle.

A sudden spasm of pain pierced through his wounded leg. He gasped curling into the fetal position, trying to find relief.

He felt comforting hands on his back."You stay with me now, boy."

"I'm still here, Uncle John." He hissed through clenched teeth.

In a viscous cycle of frost and pain, cold chills wracked his body constantly shaking his hurt leg. He felt a cold compress on his forehead. The motion of the train didn't help his developing nausea. What little he'd eaten at the doctor's house made a painful reappearance. A cup or canteen was pressed to his lips but as soon as it went down it came back up. Eventually his stomach muscles ached from throwing up nothing but stomach acid. His leg was on fire throughout it all.

Images remembered on imagined of the death and blood ran through his head. The only time he found peace was when a gruff but affectionate voice told him of the good things of the past. Family dinners with fried chicken and blueberry pie. Nights spent telling tales of daring deeds by a warm fire. Hearing about those that had passed on to the next life. His Aunt Emily. His Ma. His Pa. The sting of death seemed lessened by the tales of the lives they lived, by a man that knew them all so well. His Uncle John stayed with him through the night. He never left his side.


End file.
